


Selly Oak

by Flanker27_UK



Series: Strike's Shepherd [3]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flanker27_UK/pseuds/Flanker27_UK
Summary: Continues the story after the Viking Explosion





	1. Arrival

Shouting. Noise. Confusion

Strike couldn’t make sense….

Screaming, Screaming, Screaming.

_Who the fuck is screaming, shit it’s me_

“Sarge, Sarge, hang on, 

For fucks sake anyone got a Morphine Injector, he’s in agony, Fuck, Fuck, Stay with me.

Get a tourniquet on that leg before he bleeds out. Time on his forehead, NOW.

Stay with me. Stay with me Strike, Strike can you hear me. Stay with me.

How long till the Medevac Chinook? He needs blood now else we’ll lose him

Joe, how’s the other 2 guys?

Christ his face is a mess.

The other? No, OK get his tags”

_What’s happening? _

_Mum, Mum what are you doing here, shouldn’t you be with the baby, where’s Lucy? Please, please hold me I’m feeling so cold, hug me please, like you used to_

_Where’s Charlotte, she must know I love her, I must tell her I love her _

_This bed is so, so soft and comfortable I think I’ll just drift off to sleep_

Slap!

“No you don’t, stay with me you fucker, don’t you dare die on me, come on stay with me, fight you bastard, don’t give up”

“_Come on Strike, I didn’t save you and Anstis just for you to die in a roadside bomb”_

_Will? Will Shepherd?_

_What’s that noise? I don’t remember a ceiling fan in my room_

_Spinning round spinning round spinning round_

_Let me just sleep and it’ll be all fine tomorrow_

“Thank fuck for that, get them in the Chinook.

Severe trauma to the right leg, missing from mid-calf, extensive blood loss, tourniquet applied 23 minutes ago to stem flow, 1 issue Morphine Epi-Pen administered at the same time. Patient hasn’t been lucid and has been drifting in and out of consciousness”

“OK thanks I have him now, Sergeant….Strike. My name is Steve and I’m a Dr, I’m just going to give you some drugs to make you more comfortable and give you some blood to replace what you have lost, just relax”

\----

_Where am I_

_Everything is bright and clean, this can’t be Bastion, what’s happening_

“Good you’re awake, you’re in the recovery room at Bastion field hospital. We’ve operated on you stopped the bleeding and cleaned your wound. You will need more extensive work back in the UK and you will be airlifted to Frankfurt tonight on the next C17 out of here. I’m Becky your recovery nurse and I’ll be with you until you’re on the plane”

“How, how bad is it?”

“You have a severe injury to your right leg, we’ve operated on you and you are out of immediate danger but I’m afraid you’ll have to have more work to get you right again”

“Will I be able to walk OK?”

“Oh yes, they do amazing prosthetics nowadays”

_Prosthetics, shit, that means I’ve lost my leg_

“Lie back Sergeant, just relax you’ve just come out of a 4 hour operation”

“My leg?”

“I’m sorry, they managed to save the knee joint for you but you’ve lost your right leg from mid calf “ 

Lying down

Watching the ceiling going past

_I’m thirsty_

More ceilings

Outside, hot dusty, noisy, up a ramp looks like a metal tunnel, loads of cables and conduits

“Hello Sergeant Strike, I’m Janice, I’m your nurse on this flight to Frankfurt, if you are OK at Frankfurt then we’ll continue to Birmingham in the UK and transfer you to the Defence Medicine centre in Selly Oak”

“Janice, what about your DROPS truck, who’s driving that?”

Sleep

Stare at ceiling

Janice smiling, giving sips of water through a straw, no food might need another op in Frankfurt

Janice holding my hand

Janice wiping my brow, checking the bag of fluid that seems to be plugged into my arm

Janice smiling while injecting something into the bag

Sleep

Sleep

Sleep

Shouting, banging, being manoeuvred on trolley

Janice “Goodbye Cormoran Strike, I wish you all the best for the future”

Janice with the gentle smile and the hands of an angel leaning forward and gently kissing my forehead

“Good luck warrior”

Janice turning to the next trolley, whispering to its occupant, kissing the hand as the head is covered in bandages

In the ambulance, hear the siren, Medic in green overalls, not army green, bottle green, blue badge West Midlands Ambulance Service

“Hi Buddy, I’m Raj, I’ll be looking after you for the trip to Selly Oak Hospital, How are you feeling?”

Croaky voice “Don’t think I’ll be dancing tonight”

“That’s the spirit, don’t let the bastards grind you down”

Interminable trip through the crowded roads until they finally reach their destination

More ceilings

More corridors

At last, Army Orthopaedic ward, home for the foreseeable future


	2. Reconstruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike recovers in Selly Oak Hospital

Strike woke up to the familiar clattering and banging, the flickering of fluorescent lights coming on and all the noise associated with a busy NHS Hospital ward. Familiar now to him as he’d been here for many, many weeks.

It felt like a life time.

He looked across to the guy in the next bed to him, an infantry private who, like Cormoran, had a large tent object under his bed clothes, it was supposed to stop bedclothes irritating injured legs, but Strike thought it was a bit of a moot point for his oppo as he didn’t have any, just stumps at mid-thigh.

“Morning Monkey”

“Morning Oggy”

The two injured soldiers had rapidly adopted nicknames for each other, Oggy had been obvious as soon as Strike’s Cornish roots had been established. But Monkey, well that had caused some mirth for Strike when he’d discovered Nigel hailed from Hartlepool, _Nigel, fuck who lumbers their kid with that sort of moniker these days,_ The two other Geordies in the ward had fallen about laughing when they had all been swapping stories & Nigel had revealed his place of birth

“Hartlepool, Hartlepool, we’ve got a fucking Monkey Hanger in here with us boys”

And just like that ‘Monkey’ had stuck

This was doubly amusing to Strike as the Redcaps were commonly referred to as ‘Monkeys’ throughout the Army

“Thursday isn’t it?”

“Yes”

“So it’s fucking bread and butter with fucking blackcurrant jam for fucking breakfast, I fucking hate blackcurrants”

Strike grinned to himself, the moaning and banter of army life had transferred seamlessly to the wards of Selly Oak Hospital, dedicated to the injured soldiers, that were, unfortunately, coming in a steady stream from the god awful war that was going on in Afghanistan, far away from the public’s gaze.

An item occasionally made the news, some poor Wife’s Husband and Mother’s son pausing at Wootton Bassett for the people of that town to pay respects, for the nation, the poor bastards that hadn’t made it, those not like Strike and Nigel, who had been lucky

Lucky to have a medic with them when they were injured.

Lucky to have a medic who knew what they were doing and could stop catastrophic blood loss

Lucky they hadn’t had the respectful pause in Wootton Bassett

Lucky they didn’t make the news

And Strike had been really lucky, if the Navy Medic following in the Viking behind hadn’t been on the ball Strike would have likely have bled out on the Lashkargah Rd.

_When I’m back on my feet I’m going to track down that guy and shake his hand, at the very least, hopefully get pissed with him, not many people in this world you owe your life to and the least you can do is thank them_

“Alright Bab, tay? Like traykle ay it?” 

“Morning Lottie, you’re getting to know me too well, like creosote please”

“Here you go then Chuck, bloody jam butties for breakfast, it ay right giving fittle like that to big blokes like yo lot”.

Strike laughed, he understood Lottie’s Birmingham accent now, the woman who could have been any age from 40 to 70 treated all the soldiers on her ward like her own children, trying to make their lives a bit better by pandering to them when she could. Her husband worked at the Cadbury factory just up the road and bags of miss shaped chocolates appeared at regular intervals on the ward. One day when she had seemed very down Strike had asked if she was alright. She had sat on his bed and cried her eyes out,

“Yo know that Sean from Bristol, who lost both legs and an arm”

Strike nodded and reached out holding her hand

“I thought he was making it, he was getting berra, sitting up and chirpy, starting to feed himself, his missus came in last wick, brought their new babby to see him, he died last night, Sister said it was Sepsis. I hate this bloody war and what it’s doing to all yo young lads”.

“Av yo got a girlfriend Corm? I’ve seen some of yowr visitors, was it that blonde girl who kept blarting?”

“No, that was my sister Lucy, she is always a bit emotional, I’ve got an ex Lottie, we split just before I deployed”

A wistful look came over Cormoran as he remembered the good times with Charlotte, he always seem to let the bad times slip his mind, just remembering her beauty and how when they were good they were really good together

“Any road gotta get on, teke care Corm”

This was really the first week that he had started to feel more human, he’d had multiple operations as the surgeons tried to construct the best knee joint and lower leg from the awfully damaged remains that Strike had arrived with. The Consultant was due to update Strike on progress this morning.

During the Doctors rounds the consultant, Mr Hickey, sat on the chair next to the bed and studied Cormoran. Strike had liked the no nonsense Irishman from the off, he’d never sugar coated anything he’d said and had always made sure his patient was aware of what was going on. Strike didn’t find out till much later that he was one of the foremost reconstructive orthopaedic surgeons in the world, skills developed treating the injured in Belfast during the ‘Troubles’

”Right Mr Strike I think it’s time I let you know where we are and what options we have, you have a knee that should have about 80% function compared to a normal joint, also we have trimmed and tidied your Tibia and Fibula and have managed to construct a muscle pad around the end of them so you have a base for a prosthesis. However the damage you endured meant that we had much less mass to work with than we would have liked. We are now pretty well at the end of the road for what we can do surgically. But”

_Here it comes, there’s always a but _

“We had to do a lot of pinning of your bones and the muscle around your stump is quite limited, I am concerned that when you come to use a prosthetic leg you may find it very painful and maybe even impossible to walk on one without a stick. Ultimately we will have to see how you cope and if it is not working out we may have to amputate above the knee, where the tissue was undamaged”

Cormoran sat and tried to digest that, he’d had enough of operations and was desperate to try and get mobile, the thought of losing more leg horrified him.

“I’d really like to give it my best shot with what you’ve done so far, before we think about losing the knee”

“I think that’s advisable, always best to preserve as many joints as possible”

“We’re managing your pain with drugs at the moment but that can’t continue long term as I’m sure you are aware, weaning you off the opioids is part of your rehabilitation programme, all being well, if you continue improving at the current rate, we should look at moving you to Headley Court in a couple of weeks”

“Thanks Doc”

Strike lay and thought of what lay ahead, he was strong, well he was before the bomb, fit and determined he would walk again, without a stick! And Headley Court was much nearer London so hopefully he would see more friends and family

“Come back Mystic Bob, where were you”

Strike opened his eyes to see Anstis grinning at him, Rich had a transparent plastic mask moulded to his face where you could see the bright pink of the skin grafts he’d received when the surgeons rebuilt his face

“Fuck me it’s the Phantom of the Opera, how you doing Rich and what’s with the mask? And cut the Mystic Bob shit” Anstis had started with ‘Mystic Bob’ when Strike had told him, truthfully, why he’d pulled Anstis out of the front of the Viking and saving his life

“Got to wear the mask for months, it’s supposed to really cut down on scarring, I’m hoping it works”

“Well anything should be an improvement”

Anstis gave Strike a friendly punch

“Just come to say goodbye, being discharged to home with Outpatient Care from St Georges in London so I can go home at last”

“That’s brilliant Rich, I bet you can’t wait, I’ve just heard they’re sending me to Headley Court to get my Bionic leg fitted”

“That is good news.Don’t forget as soon as you’re mobile dinner at my home, the better half wants to smother you with kisses and you need to meet your Godson.

One thing on a serious note, about our ‘Shepherd’, well I had a chat with one of the lay councillors here, ex RAF guy, name of Dave. I’ve given him your name, I think you would find it good to talk with him”

Anstis left and Strike lay there fuming, what was Rich playing at, they’d agreed to keep their experience with Will Shepherd between themselves and now he’d blabbed to some councillor.

\------- 

Strike saw a distinguished looking gentleman, looking to be in his late forties, enter the ward and bend to speak to the nurse on the desk, she pointed towards him with a smile and the man walked towards him, with a slight limp.

“Cormoran Strike?”

“That’s me”

“I’m Dave Ross, pleased to meet you, I’m here to chat really, that’s all, and you can tell me to piss off if you like. The MoD thought it might be useful for amputees to talk with ex forces people who’ve been through the experience”

Strike nodded “OK happy to chat, it gets boring here, none of my family live close and daytime TV well….”

“Right then, you wheelchair mobile?”

“Yes for the past week or so, still working on crutches, I feel so weak on them though”

“That’s normal, you’ve been sitting on your arse for months, being operated on and pissed about, bed baths and bed pans. I remember, I hated it” 

Strikes mood lightened somewhat, someone who wasn’t pitying, who understood what he’d been through

“Let me charm the nurse to get me a wheel chair and we can go down into the courtyard gardens, get some fresh air, or maybe a fag or two?”

“That would be great I’m gasping here, thought it would be a good chance to give up but I’m craving them more and more, all they give me is nicotine gum”

Dave pushed Strike through the seemingly endless corridors of the huge Birmingham Hospital, finally arriving at a rather pretty little cobbled courtyard with a statue and obviously well-tended flower beds.

“I like to come here to chat with folk” Dave said “Did you know this used to be a Workhouse when they first built it? No, now it fixes up all our wounded Warriors, well fixes their bodies anyway. Rich told me a little about what happened to the pair of you, hang on let me finish”

Strike had put his hand up and tried to interrupt

“This chat is just between us, confidential, I’m not paid by the MoD or anything, I just come and talk to you guys because, well because no one talked to me when I had my injury, just left in a ward with old men and car crash victims.”

“Let me tell you a bit about how I ended up with no left leg below the knee, hey I’ve just thought we could make a good pair of bookends”

The joke relaxed Cormoran, the forces dark humour was in evidence, used to cover tragedy and things that most people could never imagining experiencing

“So where was I, Yes I was a pilot in the RAF on January 17th 1991, a date that I will never forget, we were at Dhahran airbase in Saudi, about to do the job I’d trained for, for the previous three years, except we weren’t trying to stop the Red Army in the Fulda Gap, we were going to try and smash Sadam’s air force and his airfields.

We had the short straw, the Brit’s had the only aircraft and weapons system that stood a chance of doing it.

JP233 Airfield Denial ordnance, probably seemed a good idea to the designers, just fly at 100 feet down the runway while 100s of cluster bombs stream out, destroying everything beneath them. Plus we had the best low level aircraft in the world, God we loved the Tonka, err Tornado, you wouldn’t believe what it could do, terrain following radar, the times we’ve screamed through Snowdonia at 50 feet at 500 knots, incredible.

But now we had to do it properly, the Septic’s had this amazing invisible bomber that was supposed to take out all the Air Defence systems, just before we attacked.

It didn’t quite work out that way though, we had planned the raid well in advance and had been practicing for weeks, but now it was for real. They had painted all the planes a ghastly pink colour and the ground crews had been busy naming and putting cartoons on the planes, felt like it was WW2 again ‘Ross’ Razor’ with a dripping cutthroat on the nose was mine.

Anyway the attacks were synchronised, 10 second intervals each aircraft coming in from a different direction, my target was taking out the main runway, Ron in the backseat was responsible for targeting, I was just the bus driver,

We were 3rd in, and the place was like Blackpool illuminations, Triple A everywhere

I was cock on time and heading, Ron announced, ‘weapon activated’, and we launched our version of hell on them. It only takes a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity 100 feet, straight and level while every gun in Iraq shot at us.

Ron shouted ‘Bombs Gone’ and I jinked like mad.

Straight into a stream of Flak”

Dave paused then obviously lost in the moment, he shook his head and returned to the conversation

“It raked the length of the aircraft, fault lights came on across the panel, fire warning, all the computer systems were gone and the radios. I’d pulled up to get a bit of height as we were away from the airfield so I shouted eject to Ron, no answer, no problem I could command eject him.

Didn’t work, looking around out of the corner of my eye I could see him slumped against his straps. I wasn’t going to leave him. 

I pulled the fire suppression system handle and shut down the port engine, and it worked, fire warning out.

All I had to do then was get home, across a featureless desert, with all my computer guidance shot, no maps, compass smashed, Ron out of it, and I couldn’t feel my left leg anymore, but my calf felt wet.

I tell you Cormoran, for the first time in many years I said a silent prayer to myself.

Then dropping down alongside me was another Tonka, ZD on the fin, not my squadron but a friendly face.

He gave me the thumbs up, I responded with a thumbs down and pointed to my ear then pointing into my cockpit and giving a wavy hand sign to try and say all instruments out

He pulled in front of me & then the crazy bastard turned his anti-collision strobe on so I could follow him easily. 

He led me back to Dhahran right to the threshold, then with a wing waggle, pulled away and left me to land.

I got what was left of the plane onto the ground, then found I had no brakes so crashed off the end of the runway into the scrub, the wheels collapsed.

The fire trucks were on us like a shot, covered in foam and they cut us out and I got rushed to hospital.

My leg had been peppered with shrapnel and was bleeding from multiple places, they think my pressure suit had numbed the pain. It was a few weeks later when the gangrene set in and they had to take my leg to save me.”

“What about Ron?”

“He’d been killed instantly 4 inch shell fragment through his heart” 

“So Cormoran, why do you think I’ve told you all this?”

“Well it’s a good war story, but most people who’ve seen combat tend to want to forget about it, so?”

“So a few months later when I was convalescing, I was chatting with my CO about what had happened, The Tornado force had taken a lot of losses on the first day of that war, we knew it was dangerous but we hadn’t expected to lose 10 aircraft in the first few hours. We chatted about what had happened to me and I asked him if he could find out who was flying ZD that night so I could thank the man personally.

The boss checked it out and came back to see me the next day.

‘Dave, ZD was lost in the first wave of attacks on that night, taken out by a SAM while trying to hit the apron at another airbase, are you sure it was ZD? It was dawn after all and you were fighting to control your plane’

“So, I know what I saw Cormoran, and when Richard told me your tale I felt I had to share with you my experience. I have talked it over with a Psych doctor, not RAF, I didn’t want anything on my record. I got told platitudes. About how the subconscious mind can come to the surface and help the conscious. All I know is Ken Cox, the pilot of ZD led me home that day, if he hadn’t we would have crashed in the desert and perhaps never been found.

Things happen Cormoran that defy rational explanation, rational explanations would mean that you nor I would be here. Something was looking out for us those days, but for the life of me I have no idea what. I just wanted you and Rich to know you aren’t alone and if you ever want a chat with someone who understands, well I’ll be available”.

They chatted some more about general things, Dave ran his own printing company but made a couple of afternoons free every week to come and talk with fellow amputees, he did say though that he hadn’t shared his ‘shepherd’ with anyone else.

He wheeled Strike back to the ward and they exchanged pleasantries & Dave agreed to visit Corm again the same time next week.

The ward routine then took over again, the soldiers were fed their Hospital meals then everything was cleared away for visiting, which wasn’t much of a highlight for Strike as his family and friends could only visit occasionally.

He was sitting reading a paperback when the hubbub of the ward went silent.

Everyone was looking at the entrance, where an amazingly beautiful woman was standing, thinking they were being visited by a supermodel or film star people started whispering,

“Who’s that woman?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen her in Hello”

She was dressed in an elegant, cream silk trouser suit that looked like it cost a fortune

She walked up the ward, everyone’s eyes following this beautiful creature, so out of place in a Birmingham hospital

She reached Cormoran, sat on his bed and threw her arms around him kissing him on the cheek, the hint of a tear tracked down her face

“Oh Bluey, what on earth have you been up to?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to write the Birmingham accent, did it work?  
Does anyone need a translation :-)


End file.
